


codenames

by Katraa



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Board Games, Enemies, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Phantom Thieves Gathering, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: the thrill of the hunt never resonated with akechi goro.  not really.





	codenames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labocat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/gifts).



> I AM SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT. i owe you a longer (and smut) piece later this month!!

The thrill of the hunt was a saying lost on Goro Akechi. Murder was a necessary evil that required meticulous planning and patience; it was messy, both figuratively and literally if the number of peacoats he had run through was any indicator. There was, simply put, no thrill. That _was_ until he met Joker – or more aptly put, _crashed_ into Akira Kurusu.

That wasn’t the correct way to put. At least, not this evening.

The chilly November air clung to Goro Akechi like an uncomfortable veil. He had lost count the number of ties he looked towards the open attic window in efforts to subtly hint he wanted it _closed_. Apparently the rest of the _Thieves_ had never spent any time learning body language. Perhaps that was for the best.

“Sooo,” Futaba begins, dramatically setting down a board game on the cramped table in Akira’s ‘room.’ The group is gathered around it – some on the floor, some on the dusty futon, and some opting to stand. Akechi is of the latter persuasion, fiddling with his fringe. It is one thing to partake in planning ordeals but _social_ obligations are beyond him, _lost_ on him. Make it till you break it, right?

“What is that?” Ryuji instantly asks, brows shooting up. “Catan or somethin’?”

“Better,” says Futaba with an impish grin. “It’s called Codenames. And we’re gonna see who is the best Thief!”

“Wonderful,” grumbles Ryuji, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Can I just… ya know, abstain from this? Or somehin’?”

“Only four of us can play at once,” Futaba murmurs as she fiddles with the box. She’s pointedly avoided Akechi’s gaze the entirety of the evening. “So. Joker and Crow against me and Queen.”

“Challenge accepted,” Makoto says brightly, leaning off the futon, leg draped over the other. A tiny smile graces her lips – much like her older sister, she has the spirit, the _air_ of polite confidence. And a thirst for competition. Naturally. 

“I wouldn’t want to take the chance from someone else,” Akechi interjects smoothly, breezily, almost ripping his own hair out. “Please. I insist.”

“Nah. I wanna see you try and guess Akira’s codewords.”

It’s terribly menacing – but Akechi doesn’t think on it. It’s Futaba, after all. She’s strange.

“That’s fine,” Akira says simply and remains where he is on the floor, cross-legged in front of the table.

“… If you insist,” Akechi grumbles as politely as he can as he takes an uneasy seat across the table. Meanwhile, Futaba scoots closer to her older brother and shows him the rules and the cards. 

It’s fairly simple: Akira and Futaba know which cards – and therefore what words – are associated with their teams. The white cards, with random words, are meaningless to Makoto and Akechi. The aim of the game is to get Akechi and Makoto to guess what cards they are referring to with only a one-word hint. Too broad and they can score points for the other team. Too narrow and the other person might not get it. And to really up the ante, a person is allowed to state the hint with a number. If two of their cards are associated with the hint, they may state “two” after. It’s a great game for friends – for people that are comfortable with jokes and references and understanding others. 

Akechi looks instantly uncomfortable. He’s fully aware he knows nothing about Akira. Nothing _real_. But fine. He’s a master of manipulation and words and body language so this shouldn’t be impossible. How hard can it be?

“Frozen Four,” Futaba says and gives Makoto a haughty little grin.

Makoto contemplates it for thirty seconds or so before she looks up and says with such intense confidence, “Princess. Ice. Snow. Mountains.”

“You’re the best!” Futaba chirps as she flips over each card, demonstrating that they are indeed the color of their team. “Boom! Hah! Take that, boys!”

Akira rolls his eyes and surveys the board carefully.

Akechi hates losing. He really, really does. But there’s no possible way he’s going to win this – he doesn’t even know what Frozen is and those imbeciles were able to score four points off it. What the hell?

“… Diligence. Three.”

What does that even mean?

Akechi quirks a brow and inspects the words available. Diligence can mean a multitude of things. Having to guess what Joker is specifically referencing – with three things – is irksome. It grates on him in a weird way he hadn’t anticipated.

“How obtuse of you, Joker,” he says loftily nonetheless.

Futaba pointedly rolls her eyes. “Just guess already! Don’t stall!

“Pen.” Akira flips over the card to reveal their team’s color. Thanks the heavens. “…Computer.” And the second card is in their favor. The third one is giving Akechi trouble. He eyes the splay a few more times. There’s certainly one that sticks out to him.

But Akira wouldn’t know that.

He wouldn’t think to guess that.

So he says, “School.”

He’s wrong.

Futaba cheers and the game continues. It’s fairly close, all things considered. Apparently thesis and antithesis make a better team that anticipated. They only lose by a point.

It isn’t until the end of the game that Akechi realizes that his guess had been correct. There’s no other combination of cards, of hints, that would have lead to that word. It had been on their team. 

His stomach twists, a knife burying somewhere deep. Perhaps it’s lodging between his ribs, filleting him bit by bit. Maybe he’s always been dead.

Akechi is the last to leave, of course, because that’s just what he does: linger. He doesn’t do it anywhere _but_ Leblanc, but yet he finds the pull, the tendency, overwhelmingly strong. Moths to a flame, after all.

“Well. That was certainly … interesting. Thank you again for inviting me,” Akechi says politely as he buttons his coat, gloved and nimble fingers working the buttons into their homes.

“You’re part of the team,” Akira responds and it tells nothing. 

“Haha… need I remind you of our arrangement?” There’s an ill-placed and ill-gotten smile spreading along Akechi’s pretty features. Venom. It’s all venom. A cobra waiting to strike.

“I remember,” Akira says and rolls his shoulders in a shrug. Seconds after, his hand extends and the light glares on his glasses enough to obscure his eyes. “Good game.”

“You too. I’m terribly upset we lost,” he jests but shakes Akira’s hand. He’s glad for gloves.

“Get home safe, detective,” Akira tells him as Akechi steps towards the door.

He hesitates when he gets there, glove on the knob, the cold air sneaking its way in through the crack under the door. Heavy. Everything is so _heavy_. Akechi feels more like an outlier – an alien – than ever before. He doesn’t belong here. He’s an interloper and he hates these people. He _despises_ them. Even yet…

“That card,” Akechi finds himself asking, words tight and lips tighter. “What was it?”

“Hm?” Akira doesn’t turn to him, back to him, and now would be a perfect time to stab him in the back as he plans to do. As he _ought_ to do.

“That first turn. What was the other card, out of curiosity?”

Akira’s lips curl into a smile but it’s hidden to the shadows and the stairs. 

“You’re a detective, figure it out.”

Akechi’s brows furrow and he makes a nasty expression, glad for the cover of darkness and Akira’s posture. Then again, when isn’t he glad for the darkness? When isn’t he critiquing every single thing this boy does?

God, he can’t wait until he’s _gone_.

“Very well then, Joker. It seems I won’t be getting any answers tonight!” Akechi says in a warm trill but his cold, cold eyes scream otherwise.

“Goodnight,” Akira says in response and heads up the stairs, Morgana at his feet.

Dismissive. He _hates_ being dismissed. Everything about Akira pisses him off. It takes a lot to truly get under his skin, but Akira has managed to in every sense of the word. He’s gotten under every god damn layer. His face pulls into an even nastier expression as he steps outside into the cold, just as the snow begins to fall. He ignores the way he’s pulled back to Leblanc, like unsettled business, unresolved tension, feelings, _potential_. He hates Akira. He hates hates hates _hates_ him. Nothing will change. Nothing will ever change. 

Black. The card had read black.


End file.
